


he gets the ball, he scores again--

by starfolds



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Liverpool F.C., Poetry, oh god the poetry tag who would've thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfolds/pseuds/starfolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oh nando.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he gets the ball, he scores again--

**Author's Note:**

> remember last season when there were rumours of nando returning to liverpool (that had my gut screaming a vehement _fuck no_ ) and instead he went home to atléti? and then there was the charity match because stevie was leaving?
> 
> originally written 30.03.2015 || much love to [skylights](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights) for the beta!

oh nando.

 

nando who left his home with an unwilling heart

who was welcomed with open arms

who was loved and loved and loved --

 

whose name echoed throughout anfield during every game

whose name made the kop bounce in their seats

whose name was sung and spoken with so much love

always love,

only love.

 

(liverpool is not your first love

is not your one true love

but the ache of leaving home lessens with every forceful wave of fondness sent your way)

 

your leaving cut the deepest

like a knife in the gut

burrowing in

digging in

leaving a bitter taste in the mouth with every day you spent in blue --

 

until it was easier to focus on the anger, the resentment

to let our gazes see red

(as red as the shirts we wear

as red as our blood flowing

as red as the colour you left) --

 

anger at the betrayal

anger at the light leaving our captain's eyes

anger at the gall of playing on our grass against us --

 

easier to be angry than to see

he who you once loved lose his form

be jeered at

shuttled from one club to another like he wasn't worth much anymore --

 

but oh, that moment --

 

that moment the calderón sang your name

45,000 voices strong saying,

"hello, we've missed you

welcome home, el niño."

 

your smile was as bright as the madrid sun

your steps steady and light on the familiar pitch

the joy radiating from every pore of your being, blinding --

 

we didn't realise,

still blind in our anger

that we'd long begun to heal

that the gaping wound had scarred over

the pain turning into a distant hurt that didn't ache with every mention of your name

 

when the skipper called, was your 'yes' automatic?

instinctive?

because it was him asking?

did you feel you had to make amends,

to the kop, to him?

did you find yourself hesitating

doubtful of your reception,

dreaming of whistles --

 

but no.

this was anfield.

their silence would be more deafening.

 

you needed to come back.

needed to see the red stands and the green of the pitch and the white of the locker rooms.

needed to say, 'thank you. I'm sorry. I loved you, I did, and I still do.'

 

you steeled yourself for the worst.

 

silly boy.

 

this is anfield.

this is liverpool.

this is she who is grudging and bitter and quick to anger

but also nostalgic

and forgiving

and protective

and full of loyalty

and _love_.

 

you are her adoptive son.

she has not forgotten the three years she took you under her wing, trying to soothe your loneliness.

you pushed your tired legs for her, every ball hitting the back of the net for the glory of her name.

 

you were ours, once.

despite everything, you were _ours_.

 

you will see the kop on their feet with your name on their lips,

an absolution and farewell and blessing all rolled into one song.

 

because one thing is certain:

 

you are loved.

you will _always_ be loved.

and not alone.

[never alone. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ksvFtWLVjs)


End file.
